


found you

by mariafuckingcalavera



Category: RWBY
Genre: Banter, Beacon Academy, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:39:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24217525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariafuckingcalavera/pseuds/mariafuckingcalavera
Summary: That was how their lives first became intertwined, destined to meet again each and every time.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Roman Torchwick
Kudos: 11





	found you

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! welcome to day 4 of magpie week, heist/misssion // fall of beacon!! i chose the former, enjoy!

"Are you done being the vainest person I know?"

Qrow's mischievous smirk drops in seconds as he hears the familiar voice, replaced by an exasperated groan as he spots his sister in the reflection of the grand mirror in front of him, leaning on the doorframe with her hands folded against her chest. Qrow doesn't even bother to turn and look at her, choosing to fuss with his hair instead, running his fingers through it in, fluffing it up before smoothing it back down.

"Hey, it isn't every day I get to dress like this, let me live a little." Qrow protested in retaliation as he fusses with his hair even more: pushing his bangs upwards, away from his face, experimenting. Qrow huffed with a hint of fleeting irritation, swiftly replaced by flamboyantly presented his outfit, making her roll her eyes apathetically at his cocky antics. She scoffs at his words, distaste sharp at the edge of her tongue.

"You won't be living anymore if this isn't pulled off perfectly. This is a crime boss we're dealing with, and your biggest concern is your fucking hair." She chastises him once again and he scowls, electing to ignore her next words and reprimands as he admires himself in the mirror, studying every inch of his outfit: classy, sexy, perfect for a mission like this.

It was their last year studying at Beacon Academy, and every senior had to take on a stealth related mission for their coursework: whether it was with their team, partners or solo. Qrow would have gone for a solo mission, but as usual, he had put off picking a mission from the school's mission board up to the very last minute, and Raven had to have him tag along on hers. Tai and Summer took their mission together separately from Raven and Qrow after a discussion that turned into a lighthearted, teasing argument on the fact that they were bad at stealth, aiming to prove they were better at it than the two twins. Qrow had wished them luck, but Raven just scoffed, rolling her eyes at their antics.

Their mission was to sit and socialise in the top levels of Gambit Casino for a social gathering, where the infamous criminal nicknamed Silver Dollar, who was reportedly holding an event to present his latest scheme. All they had to do was to gather intel and write a report with the intel gathered, as well as what he did wrong and what he did right. The point of the whole thing was to be discreet and to learn when to engage and when to stay by the sidelines, how to disappear in a crowd and blend in, gather information without any vital truth spilling from your lips. Hence, why the twins were dolled up with invitations at the ready, Qrow clad in a dark, burgundy red shirt and black vest, intricate silver designs embroidered into the material. His signature cross necklace hung off his neck as always, complimented by silver rings decorating slender fingers and a matching watch: simple but classy. Meanwhile, Raven was in a black tuxedo, bowtie undone around her neck whilst she adjusted her cufflinks, hair combed and let loose.

"...and remember-" Raven's last words interrupted his thoughts and he sighed irritatedly before turning to face her.

"Don't engage the enemy unless I absolutely have to, and keep my eyes on the prize. You've said this at least a billion times already, we'll be fine." Qrow recited before he added in the offhanded reassurance, his tone more irritated if anything. She rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything, her scroll buzzed and she looked up.

"Limo's here." She plainly states, and he takes in a deep breath, taking one last look at himself, a smirk on his face. Tonight, he was a smooth criminal, charismatic, but subtle, drinks with the most notorious and most dangerous of high society. Tonight, he'll wreck so much chaos with his semblance no one would even know they were there. Tonight, he'd spend it with a flute of champagne in his hand and a laugh on his lips.

This night was bound to be fun.

~~~

Roman's always been one for centre stage.

Born for the spotlight, the centre of attention, he's used to the pressure that comes easily on his shoulders. He's used to his every move being watched: from the flick of his fingers as ash scatters in the breeze, to his confident strides as he walks down the street, head held high, shoulders back, a sway to his step as he strolls to the beat of his own drum, his own rhythm echoing in his head as he makes his way to and fro. He's used to the attention, he's used to the lingering gazes of intimidation and admiration.

But the way he could feel the eyes of one person in particular bearing into his soul, it sends shivers down his spine.

He looks around the casino, swivelling in his place as the rest of the criminals watch the roulette, cigar in between his lips as emerald green eyes scan the crowd. He watches the waiters glided across the room, champagne and wine and trays of hors d'oeuvres hovering above heads as they weave in between the crowds, going unnoticed. He watches drunken lords intoxicated by the amber in their glasses, boisterous voices booming as they cheered, rocking back with the effort it takes out of him. He watches the bartender, his hands flying as he prepares drink after drink, cups and cocktail shakers soaring in the air, ice cubes caught perfectly: each move articulate, precise, yet the performance flows like a river meandering through grasslands.

But the pair of eyes that bore into his soul, the pair of eyes that made excitement like electricity in his veins, they weren't among these people. Thy weren't drunken bastards, they weren't sophisticated gentlemen, they weren't invisible waiters drifting through the crowds like ghosts in July.

Erupting cheers pierce through his mind, jerking him back into reality, into the cheers and jeers of his fellow criminals. He looks down at his bets: seven chips on black, the ball on red.He swears under his breath, debating on quitting: his luck has been rotten so far.

But now as he looks up from his ocean of thoughts, he sees the disappointed faces of more people around the same roulette wheel, expressions soured by the same misfortune that used to haunt him.

"Bloody hell, another red? Christ, this wheel is rigged!" A man scowls as he glares coldly at the roulette wheel, and Roman almost laughs out loud at the sight, though he can definitely symphatise. Well, today just seems to be an unlucky day, he thinks to himself, but he can't find it in him to care, attention long having drifted elsewhere. The smooth criminal was no longer invested in the gamble, no longer captivated by the spin of the wheel. Don't get him wrong, he's still interested in the game, but the game he was playing wasn't a game of chance, wasn't defined by clubs, hearts, diamonds and spades on paper, but by the mysterious eyes that he could feel lingering on his shoulder. Eyes wandering through the crowd, footsteps dancing and tapping to the soulful melody of the piano, cigar extinguished as he instead opted for two glasses of champagne. And just as he's in the middle of the crowd and chaos, emerald green looks with rose red for seconds at a time and he can feel electricity humming in the air, the static making the hairs on his arms stand on end as he lights up with excitement, violent butterflies in his chest. It's only for a second, but he's won their little game and he'd be damned if he didn't see the fruits of his effort, so he weaves in between the crowd, rose red clad in shades of silver and burgundy drifting further away. But ever so determined, Roman closes the distance faster, getting closer and closer, now able to see midnight black-feathered locks and the silver that adorns and compliments black. And finally, the figure stops when Roman reaches out and finds his hand on the man's shoulder, and Roman grins, whispering in his ear.

"Found you."

~~~

Eyes on the prize, he keeps on repeating to himself like a mantra.

But the prize blurs, drifting further and further out of reach until the only thing truly keeping Qrow here is the fiery whisky in his hand and alluring, emerald green eyes. Bored, glazed over with fake emotion as he feigns laughter, but yet, something so much deeper beyond faked emotion behind sheer veils, everything there if you just took a second look. Eyes on the prize, he reminds himself, but he can't help but stare, can't help but look below the surface of faux enjoyment. At the surface, he looks like another one of the criminals in this establishment, but a closer look showed him the raging passion in his eyes, as fiery as his hair, perfectly contrasting his calm, cool-headed demeanour. He lacked the wrinkles of time that worn these felons to the bone, making their spirits skeletal and lacking whilst he was the only one with substance.

An open book behind the thinning veil of grandeur, now _that_ was interesting.

And just like that, he's captivated. Captivated as he watches the man from afar, emerald green eyes sweep the room whilst a cigar hangs carelessly off his lips. It suits him, Qrow thinks as Roman observes the crowd, dodging his line of sight as he weaves in between the crowd, accepting a drink and using a deep swig of amber courage to hide it. He dodges behind a pillar, away from his sight as he watches the curl of his lip: the man scowls, (probably lost some roulette bet, it's his own fault: sorry) before his eyes start to drift elsewhere, wandering around the room with a new, fevered interest sparkling in his eyes and he just knows he's caught, he knows that the game is on and a new thrill shoots up his spine. He feels the mission slipping away from his memory and he doesn't care, doesn't pay any attention to the ticking watch on his wrist that was supposed to count down something he could barely remember. Eyes on the prize, the back of his mind chided, but the prize shifted from Silver Dollar to emeralds and fire, to green eyes and fiery determination as he watched the thief search for him, weaving through the crowd and the sea of imbeciles that concealed the bird and the thief. This turned from simple, meaningless, infinitesimal infatuation to a game between the two, weaving in between each other, circling each other as they danced in each other's footsteps.

So when their eyes locked he knew he had lost, but he couldn't find it in himself to be disappointed.

He disappears in the crowd, just lingering out of his reach, toying with him, teasing him as he always remains a step away, just inches away from his fingertips, but he takes that extra step and he feels a hand on his shoulder and the whisper in his ear that sends excited shivers down his spine.

"Found you." His own lips curl upwards at the tone of his voice invested, flirtatious, just as deep into this little game of theirs as he was. And for a second, he's tempted to flirt back, a wink and a smile and bantering with the chemistry between them. But then Roman grabs his wrist, his tone never changing, never faltering for a second.

"You didn't have me deceived for a second, little spy."

And he remembers the mission now: how he's supposed to be gathering more intel, how he was supposed to wait for Silver Dollar to make his announcement as to why he organized this meeting. He internally groans, silently cursing himself for letting the mission slip from his mind. Well, time to face the music, he mentally groans as he turns around to see victorious, striking green eyes staring back at him. And eyes he found so intriguing earlier now felt so irritating to look at: his expression smug, mocking, but ever so playful and teasing, like this was all a ruse to get him fooled, under his spell, and he knows just how thoroughly fucked he is.

And that's how this unorthodox thing between them came to be: avoiding midnight silver like wolves and vampires in the midst of the night, dictating decades of banter and this game they blessed themselves into playing.

That was how their lives first became intertwined, destined to meet again each and every time.

~~~

They meet again two years later, adrenaline pumping through their veins.

Roman grins as he turns the corner: heart racing, breaths short, his legs burning with the effort but oh does it feel so sweet, does it feel so refreshing, _oh_ does he feel so _alive._

The night races by him, the cool night breeze a familiar feeling against his face as he hears the familiar churning and ticking of tiny cogs and gears, morphing silver blades to warp the moonlight around it, turning scythe to sword. he looks over his shoulder, skidding to a halt when he no longer hears the soft thud of footsteps behind him, frantically looking around.

But before he can register it, the wind is knocked out of him as Qrow slams him against the wall, the tip of Harbringer to his throat.

"Found you." He growls breathlessly, the chase tiring the both of them out: but Roman isn't out of tricks yet: cane in hand, fingers ghosting the trigger. He smiles silently, pulling the trigger, a white flare shooting out and exploding at Qrow's feet. He grins and flips his cane in his hands, shooting the grapple at the fire escape above the building next to him, letting it hoist him up.

"You didn't have me deceived for a second, little bird." He cheerily yells before he's lost in the night, and Qrow scoffs at the statement, running his hand through his hair.

Though, something tells him he's destined to meet him again, that they were destined these moments filled with urgency and action and tension buzzing in the air.

And it's unjustifiable as to why, but he doesn't exactly mind.


End file.
